HetaOni: The Sanctuary
by CityOwl3
Summary: When the nations embark on a mission to defeat and escape their tormentor, England and America stay behind in the hideaway to recuperate from their most recent battle. But when that operation spirals out of contol, not even their little sanctuary can escape the erupting chaos.
1. Eden

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, and some OOC behavior. It takes place sometime later in HetaOni (around 16), so there are some spoilers. You have been warned!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia or Ao Oni, nor do I have anything to do with the creation of HetaOni. If I did, they'd get the heck out of that mansion NOW!

* * *

><p>One room. Only a single room out of so many was safe to reside in. Others were fair game to the monster that prowled every square inch of the mansion. Still, even though this was an ever-present fact that couldn't be denied, most of the nations trapped within it were still trying valiantly to fight against the odds set against them and their escape. They weren't in the room, and had left it in hopes that they might be able to make progress in their mission.<p>

Of course, some remained. Usually, this tactic was used to protect the only safe place they had left, but it was different in this situation. There were two nations, England and America, who had been left behind to recuperate from their most recent quarrel with the alien beast. The rest had set out for freedom.

America had been against his being left behind as soon as he realized that was what their plan entailed for him. The "Land of the Free," and "Home of the Brave" squirmed in his skin at the thought of participating in such an un-heroic idea. He thought it was cowardly that he should just stay behind, while others were risking their lives for something he worked so hard for himself. It was just against his nature; so much so, that the only way that the other countries could've executed their plan was to do it while the American slept, and he had no other choice but to remain.

Which was exactly what they did.

On the other hand, England had been awake the entire time, and was forced to stay. The once powerful nation had recently been reduced to useless in a matter of moments from his most recent encounter with the beast. His lack of sight, and "magic" made him more of a burden than a help if brought into battle once more. Though it took a lot of effort, he eventually gave in, and remained with a sleeping America.

After a few hours, America finally awoke from his slumber, and groggily hoisted himself upright. He yawned, and then surveyed the room. Nobody was here, and he finally realized what was going on, and smiled wryly to himself.

"Friggen' bastards." He said, as he reached for Texas and placed it on the bridge of his nose. At first, his thought the big lump on the cot next to his was a mass of blankets and pillows; that was, until he saw the enormous eyebrows and appendages of the human personification of England peeking out from underneath said objects. America also noticed that he wasn't asleep, as he'd thought, but resting peacefully, staring at the ceiling. More of the memories from the night before came back to him.

England's eyes were just focused in that direction, and could see nothing.

Nobody really knew how much it hurt America to see England this way. And thought he hated admitting it, he knew it was all his fault that the English nation had ended up without eyesight. He couldn't do anything for him now, because there wasn't anything he knew would work, and keep all nations alive. They could go and look for more "magic" thingies, and restore England's power until he could see again. But had the Englands of previous time loops left that much magic around the mansion? They had already collected so many, so maybe there weren't any more anyway, and even looking for them would be a waste of precious energy-

"Hello America." England suddenly said, causing the American to jump.

"Jeez England, you almost gave me a heart attack!"

England seemed to ignore what he'd said, and continued speaking, "Would it be too much to ask you to quit staring at me?

"Uh, no, I guess." America pouted a bit, and looked at his feet, sheathed by a blanket. "But how did you know if I was looking at you or not? I thought you couldn't see."

"I may not be able to see," said England in an unreadable tone, "but I'm no idiot. Your awful snoring suddenly stopped, and I heard you yawning. And since I didn't hear you feet on the ground, I knew you were still lying down. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out that you'd focused your attention on the only living thing in the room besides yourself."

America didn't really have an answer for that, and he pulled his sore legs to himself, so his chin rested upon his knees. "How does it feel?"

England blinked, not needing any clarification of the vague phrase, and said, "It doesn't feel like anything. But all I see is blackness. Not even the light, or shadows."

Silence set in, as America sat, and England lay on his cot. A palpable tension also accompanied them, and every time America shifted, he felt as though he was doing something that offended England. This continued on for an immeasurable amount of time, until England shifted into a sitting up position on the bed.

"Why do you choose now, not to be your normal, idiotic self?" the Briton suddenly asked, and America turned to face him.

"What the heck, just 'cause you're blind doesn't mean you can go around hating on me!"

England rolled his sightless eyes, which made America grin, "Oh please. I'm just saying that because it's true. You do realize that most, if not all countries, tend to depend on you obnoxious attitude and hero complex to have some sense of normality in this place? Now that Italy is no longer the way he used to be, this side of you worries us...Especially me."

This surprised him, because everyone seemed to dislike America's personality very much.

"Are you saying you _want_ me to be annoying? Not that I am, or anything." He quickly recovered.

"...you know what? Never mind. You're a git."

America groaned at the overused term. "Seriously? Why are you always such an ass to me all the time, England?"

England inhaled deeply to begin shouting, but footsteps began to loudly patter up the stairs, and both nations grew quiet immediately. It was a habit they'd grown accustomed to while being trapped in that hell-hole of a mansion. The footsteps grew louder, more frantic with each step. They seemed to be coming closer.

"Shit," America cursed, and jumped out of the bed immediately, slung on his bomber jacket and extracting his pistol as he did so, all in one fluid movement. "England, stay right there, okay? I've got this covered."

"You idiot, I'm not just going to let you protect me!" England hissed. He tried to get up, but stumbled onto America's cot instead.

"Like hell you aren't old man. You stayed behind for a reason, didn't you?"

He tried to come up with a response, and failed. Instead, he turned to the sounds of a cocking gun, and said, "I thought It didn't know about this room."

America sighed, realizing that if this was the monster, and it had found their secret safe room, then they were pretty much screwed.

"But this is his turf dude, it's hard to believe he's never found us before..."

The sandy blonde had no reply for that, and slowly rose off of the bed to face the direction he believed the door to be in. America saw this, and immediately reacted.

"No, England! Stay down! You can't do anything!"

"Yes I can!" He shouted back.

England's calloused hands fumbled across his cot to find a makeshift walking stick that some nation he couldn't remember had gotten for him. When his hand finally gripped the cool metal handle, he ran recklessly to where he thought the kitchen was. Luckily, he made it there in one piece.

"What the hell are you doing?" America barked with an expression full of anger, determination, and desperation. England was ignorant to this, and if he had known, he probably would have been seriously shocked by the out-of-character look on his countenance.

England quickly ditched the walking stick like it was beginning to burn his skin, and he frantically ran his hands across the countertops. He brushed off many utensils, and swore loudly when he wasn't finding the one he needed. Hadn't there been someone cooking here earlier? Someone who chopped vegetables, someone who never cleaned up after themselves-

"Aha!" he clamped his hand on the blunt end of a butcher's knife, while the loud stomping of the feet grew ever closer, giving the nation tremors of both adrenaline and pure fear.

America had already stacked many chairs, cots and tables against the door, in attempts to keep whatever was on the other side of that door out there. He was momentarily distracted by the gleam of the blade against the light. Before he could stop himself, he turned, and sprinted toward the other nation in a way that could only be described as animalistic.

"England, you don't know what you're doing! You're blind, how would you know what you're going after?"

When he reached him, the lager nation grabbed both of England's elbows. That had been a bad choice.

"Let go of me you bloody moron!" As he began to struggle violently in the American's grasp, the knife had somehow come across the back of his wrist, causing America to yelp in pain and stumble to the ground. England had felt the blade come in contact with something, and warm liquid splattered onto his hands.

England didn't need sight to know what had happened, and the knife clattered to the floor.

"America? Oh my g-" England fell to his knees, and reached out to the other nation.

"M-my hand..." America moaned, voice laced with agony, "The back of my hand..." he examined the gash in a surreal manner. He could feel the excruciating pain of that stab, but it seemed disconnected to the wounds itself.

England quickly knelt to down and extended his grasp, but America flinched at the Brit's touch. "Come on America, I want to-"

Then, as if things couldn't have gotten worse, the door burst open without any signs of struggle. America then stood and wiped the tears of agony from his eyes with his left hand, while positioning his gun with the bloodied right. But when the intruder burst in, it was not at all who they had thought.

"_L'Amèrique, Angleterre!_ You will not believe what has happened!" cried a distressed looking French nation. He came in a few more steps and finally stopped crying for a moment to take in his surroundings. "_Mon dieu_, what is going on in here?"

England was still shaking in shock, while America tried his best to wipe off the blood that had begun to slide down his gun's handle, and onto the floor.

"France? Is that you?" England asked.

"_Oui_, who else could you be expecting?"

America groaned, and grabbed a dish towel off the counter to stop the bleeding of his wound, and France gasped. "America, what happened here?"

"Nothing." America said quietly, focusing on his hand.

"What do you take me for, a fool?" said France irritably, "Obviously something happened here while-"

"Seriously, what did you come here for, France?" England interrupted

At the mention of his reason for being here, France's expression morphed into one of horror and fear. "It's Canada. The monster has taken him."

America's already paled expression turned as white as a sheet. "_What?_"

"It's awful, isn't it?" France cried, "I can't stand thinking about what's happening to poor Ca-"

"How did you let this happen? Why didn't you stop It?" England piped loudly in France's direction.

"Canada and I were making progress finding a place that Italy had mentioned earlier," the Frenchman slipped into his usual melodramatic tone, "And then we were attacked as we approached our destination! Big brother quickly prepared for attack, but the beast was too fast. While I was prepping, it seized Canada, and disappeared!"

The towel in America's hand dropped, now tinged red instead of its original snowy color. England gritted his teeth, and shouted, "You bloody frog! I bet you were just preparing to run away! How could you have let that happen!"

The Frenchman's blue eyes flared with anger, and he roared at the nation that had spoken last. "I take offense, considering I care a lot for Canada, and I've been trying my best! And at least I'm out there fighting, while you two have a little get together-"

"I was forced to stay! You know that I would've gone if you all would've let me, you blasted idiot!"

He made his wayaround the mishappen pile of furniture to get in his rival's face to shout, "As if you don't enjoy being locked in a room with your lo-"

"We've got to find him." America whispered. It wouldn't have been heard, if not for the seriousness that was present in the happy-go-lucky American. They hushed, just to listen to him.

"Well of course we do..." England said after hoisting himself off the ground with the walking stick on the floor, "How about this France: America and I will go down to-"

"Uh, no." America suddenly interrupted. "You aren't going anywhere, England."

France nodded, "As much as I would enjoy you being attacked, he is right; your life would be at risk."

"You think I'm just going to wait for someone to return with news? You're more of an idiot than I thought! I'm going to help find him, and you aren't going on your own, America!" England said, ignoring France's words.

There was a beat of silence, before America said something unintelligible to France, who nodded. England grew panicked quickly. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew that the two idiots were plotting something.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" England demanded, tired of waiting. He didn't need an answer though, for he soon found himself in the arms of France, and he could hear someone running through into the hall. Terror gripped at his throat like a vice when he realized what was going on. "No-America!"

It didn't take much effort for England to fling himself to the ground and escape France's surprisingly strong hold on him. He scrambled to where he believed the door to be, stride going strong, until he tripped over a chair on its side. He

"America!" He shouted, tears beginning to prickle his useless eyes.

France was more than just disturbed at the sight of such a prideful nation being reduced to such pitiful condition. "Please don't do it, America!" England called once again, voice laced thick with unshed sobs, "You can't, y-you can't!"

Down the hall, America's sprint slowed, until he stopped to look back over his shoulder. He wanted so much to go back, to help England recover, to dry those tears. On the other hand, he wanted England to come with him, so he didn't have to be alone. But he knew, deep down, that none of this could happen without penalty. And each moment spent wishing that his wishing would help was one more second inching closer to the death of his brother...if he wasn't dead already.

So, the American ran once more, into the heart mansion to save his brother.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong>

**I'd been itching to do a HetaOni fic for a while now, I listened to some HetaOni OSTs, which got me totally inspired for some reason. (And you wonder where the chapter title came from? It's one of the OSTs of course!) And now you have this~!**

**Oh, and pardon my gratuitous French. Google translate is my buddy! Feel free to correct me, since I'm far from fluent! **

**Pairing-wise...I don't really know. It's iffy on whether or not there will be any pairings at all. **

**Either way, I hope you enjoyed this, and let me know by reviewing, please! Honestly, it'll make me work faster :) **


	2. Family

**Warnings: **Violence, swearing, and some OOC behavior. It takes place sometime later in HetaOni, so there are some spoilers. You have been warned!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia, Ao Oni, nor do I have anything to do with the creation of HetaOni. If I did, I'd be in there, kicking that monster's naked butt.

* * *

><p>"This place is freezing," Said America, as he walked down an eerily deserted corridor, "since when was it this cold?"<p>

America had been wandering around the mansion for a while now, and was unaware of the fact he had been for hours. He couldn't really be blamed though, for each corridor seemed to blend into the next, none of which had any sort of helpful variance. Each wall was white washed, chipping, and floored with the same rickety boards. When he took another look around, he found that the brightness of his surroundings seemed more frightening than if it'd been dark.

After circling again through one of the same corridors, recognized only by the drops of blood from his re-opened wound, the young nation couldn't help but feel depressed. Normally, he would travel around the mansion with others, but his going on his own was an emergency tactic to keep England safe. He would've preferred going with someone, but if it meant putting others in danger, he was repelled from the idea.

Still, he was getting nowhere fast, and the horrible feeling in his stomach was telling him that the longer he took to find Canada, the more likely he would find something awful. He dared to wonder if England's help might've been useful, but he shunned the thought quickly, and increased his walking pace.

Suddenly, as though by pure luck, a stairwell seemed to appear out of the stagnant surroundings. He could feel that familiar rush of optimism light a fire of hope inside his battered body. He was finally getting somewhere!

* * *

><p>"You fucking f-frog, he's going to die!" cried the sullied nation on the floor. England felt so hopeless and vulnerable, that he didn't care anymore that one if his most hated rivals was watching him breakdown. The pain of his situation was almost more than he could handle.<p>

France, on the other hand, was having a similar crisis himself. Not only was there the lingering guilt and pain of losing Canada, but the overwhelming need to rush after America to help him find the timid nation that he had been the caretaker of. Of course it was a lot to handle. It was against his instinct to let someone protect his former colony. He felt useless and stuck, because he had to stay behind and keep England from causing any more disturbances for himself, or any of the other countries. France could tell that America had even had issues controlling England, by the gory scene that had greeted him when he returned to the safe room. He gave America a lot of credit for going on with wounds yet to be healed, but that frustrated feeling never really left him. He hated it.

And the sight of England on the floor, smattered with blood and tears just made him lose his composure.

"Shut up."

There was a hiccup between the continual sobs, and the thickly browed nation looked up in the wrong direction with blind, bloodshot eyes. "What did you just say?"

France sighed, "I said _shut up_. Do you not understand this phrase in your own language?"

"Of course I do!" Yelled England, scrambling to his feet, "But you have no bloody right to tell me what to do, considering you were the one who caused this whole mess. After all, if only you'd kept better watch over Canada-"

The Frenchman crossed the room, and the sound of a loud slap resonated within its walls.

England looked as if someone told him that his economy was collapsing, and France said in a deadly whisper, "I tried my best, and I highly doubt you could've done any better. Look what happened; Americais gone, is he not? You couldn't even keep _him_ by your side. Pull yourself together, England_. _This selfish behavior isn't helping."

A silence had settled between the two men, in which England leaned up against the nearest wall. "I...I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am," France replied coolly, "It's about time you realized, Mr. Caterpillar-brows."

And though the French nation had expected a retort, or a shout, or any sort of negative reaction, it never came. Instead, there was a sniffle.

"France...what can we do?"

* * *

><p>That burning hope that'd sparked inside America had now evolved into a flame that engulfed not only his negative feelings, but part of his logic as well. He'd never been one to be able to contain how he felt, and when inspired, he was a force to be reckoned with. He was so distracted by this feeling that he didn't even notice the gouge on his wrist had begun to flow once again, and it was leaving a thicker trail of blood behind him.<p>

Still, the fact that someone had been kidnapped while he'd been laying around in the safe room…it made him feel awful. And this wasn't just any other nation-though he would've left to save them as well-it was his brother. Canada had been the only other nation that had comforted him when he was hurt, whenever England wasn't there, when he was at his worst, and still accepted him for who he was. As far as he knew, nobody else was there for him like that.

Hot, salty tears stung his eyes at his train of thought, and he tried to run faster through the halls. There probably wasn't much time left for Canada, if there was any at all, and he couldn't afford wasting it by crying about the horrible possibilities. He needed to act upon the ones that were still available to him, the ones that saved his brother from his demise.

So he quickly swiped the sleeve of his bomber jacket, and started to swing open all the doors.

Target? The monster's den.

* * *

><p>"That stick doesn't help, you know." Stated France irritably, annoyed by the fact that they couldn't get anywhere any faster.<p>

"Oh yeah?" Said England, who was waving his walking stick across the floor, and stumbling through the hall with the grace of a fish on land. "I'd love to see you try and use it!"

Though probably against better judgment, France shoved him.

"You fucking cu-!" he swore loudly, but cut off as he toppled to the ground.

France just sighed, because pushing England wasn't giving him the satisfaction he wanted. Rather, a sense of guilt and that same frustration welled inside him. Doing this wouldn't make his Canada come back to him any faster, and it wasn't like England was against him. He was trying his best to help out, though France had originally scoffed at the idea of his coming along. In the end, he'd found that England was in the same agonized boat as he, and that there was no use in holding him back. The Brit would have the nerve to go and find Canada and America on his own in his disabled state.

And though the idea was sickening he concluded that it would be better to have England come with him, than find him later, dead in the clutches of that monster.

With the help of the wall, England got to his feet. "What do you think you're doing? We have to find America, and then-"

"Aren't you forgetting Canada?" France interjected

"Huh? Oh, yes of course!" The Briton said, a faint blush rising to his cheeks, "And then Canada too, and then-"

"I know you are really focused on _L'Amérique_."

"Sod off," said England, "You know that isn't true."

France rolled his eyes, "Oh, do I?"

The thickly-browed nation stayed silent, with his mouth hanging open, as concentrated if in a deep, painful train of thought. France didn't fail to notice this. England then gave, in more ways than one, as he leaned harder against the wall, and tears began falling from his sightless eyes. But, instead of fighting them off in a loud, blush-accompanied rage, the proud nation's shoulders heaved lightly in a sad sigh as he let them slid down his pale cheeks.

"I really can't think about this right now, France. America, Canada, and who knows how many other countries are in danger right now," he said, standing fully, with the help of the walker, "We can't waste any more time on trivial things like this. I'll gladly argue with you later, but right now, I'm not willing to live with the guilt of someone's death." England drew a hand across his eyes, and removed the wetness that had accumulated there, "So, let's get moving, shall we?"

* * *

><p>Sure, blood was beginning to steadily flow from the gash on his wrist, but he either didn't notice, or didn't care. America continued to run down the hallways of the seemingly deserted mansion, with nothing in his mind but the thought of his brother, and the increasing hatred for that horrid monster keeping all of the nations trapped inside of that place.<p>

"Where could that fucker be hiding?" He muttered through the panting.

He came to another door, and whipped it open, almost unhinging it from the frame. After giving it a one-over, he knew it was empty, and contained neither his brother, nor that rotten creature. He would've felt the despair and fear that came with being near the thing, and Canada would be nearby. He let out a moan, and slammed the door shut in frustration.

The American was just about to go and check the neighboring room a few steps over, but was stopped when he heard the familiar creaking of the floor, the pressure of feet upon the wooden boards, growing in volume as he listen closer.

His reaction to the possible danger approaching was almost instantaneous, and he pulled out his gun to cock it threateningly. America was ready for anything right now, and he made sure, that even if he died trying, his brother would be freed from the clutches of the beast.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong>

**So...I guess I should be working on _Something New To Do_, but I've just been so blocked lately, it's hard to think of anything. So, lately, I've been working upon this little project. **

**Anyway, this chapter really didn't have a lot of action, or anything really, except a few hints at possible pairings, but that was about it. It's more of a bridge between the current situation and upcoming intensity. Sorry for a bunch of really short passages in this chapter too. I really hate doing that. But no need to worry about the story continuing this way, because it'll just be one POV rather than...more than one. I don't like writing that way, so...yeah. And it was kinda FACE-ish too, wasn't it? That'll change soon though, because other characters will be introduced eventually.**

**Anyway, I really appreciate those who faved, reviewed, and alerted this story. Thanks a bunch~! **

**By the way, I'm still pretty open to pairings, so if there are some that you would like to see, please let me know! And feedback is always welcome, because I'm always looking to improve my writing. And...it kinda motivates me to work faster too :)**


End file.
